


Healing

by lixseason



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Cuddling, Cuddling in Bed, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Healing, I just wanted to write them being soft together after the war, M/M, Minor Angst, Simon after the war, Soft Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Soft Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow, They're recovering and in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:22:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23777542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lixseason/pseuds/lixseason
Summary: Simon was tired, but then again he hadn’t really felt not-tired since the Humdrum.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch & Simon Snow, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 1
Kudos: 87





	Healing

**Author's Note:**

> i finished carry on yesterday and felt like i needed to write something about baz and simon because i was left wanting more. i headcanon that, when they're alone, baz and simon are incredibly soft. they both deserve it and i will Give it to them. after this, i'm going online hunting for wayward son and hope i'm not dissapointed. enjoy!!!!! - nico

Simon was tired, but then again he hadn’t really felt not-tired since the Humdrum. It was a tiredness that settled deep in his brain and rendered him almost useless. On good days, he could ignore the heaviness that settled on his chest and carry on, picking up the pieces of himself that he’d left behind in Watford.

Today wasn’t one of those days.

It was a Saturday, and Simon could see the sun rising through the small gap in his curtains. It was comforting in ways it wasn’t before, a reminder of everything he could have lost (and did lose). It was cold in his room, but not like the cold he felt back in his room with Baz in Watford. He didn’t know which one he preferred yet, but something about this cold made him feel safer than the one back at Watford (maybe it was because this cold didn’t come with the fear of death, either his or anyone else’s).

On days like this one, where everything felt like too much and too little at the same time, Simon can’t even get himself out of the bed. Penelope has tried, too, but it always ended with both of them on his bed remembering all that they had and could have had.

He could hear the clatter of Penelope cooking, and he knew she would be coming by his room soon to check on him. The bad days weren’t too often, but Penelope was always worried (She always had been. Worried. Even before the Humdrum took them both. Even before they had begun their last winter break at Watford, the one that changed their whole lives.).

The blankets around Simon did a good job in hiding him from the world as the light began to filter through his curtains. He began counting the minutes until Penelope came by his door, anything to get him out of his head; anything that could make him forget about the needles digging into his heart.

That was always his problem though, wasn’t it? Back when he was still going to Watford, he had lists of things to remember and things to forget about. He was always trying not to think, not to remember, to forget, and maybe that’s why things fell apart like they did. Simon got a happy ending, and for that he was always thankful, but that didn’t mean that Simon could easily forget; having a happy ending didn’t amongst all the bad endings didn’t mean that Simon could pretend it never happened. He could hear his therapist in the back of his head: “It’s not about forgetting, Simon, it’s about accepting that it happened, learning to forgive yourself, and moving on. You will never forget it, and that’s okay too.”

And Simon always argued the same thing: he wants to forget. Simon doesn’t want to look in the mirror and see the little kid with the red ball staring back at him, and feel the vacuum the Humdrum always carried with him, sucking up all the magic that Simon didn’t even have anymore.

That’s something Simon will never forget either, magic. Before, he was a well with no end brimming with water. Now, he was...well what was he? At least you could fill wells up with water, Simon couldn’t even do that. 

“Simon? I’m coming in.” Penny opened the door silently, and the minute she saw the darkness that enveloped Simon’s room, she knew. She shuffled towards his bed, and sat down at the edge, a hand now resting on Simon’s leg. 

“I came to tell you that I’m going out today, but if you need me to stay I could.” Simon shook his head, hoping she could see him in the mess that was his blankets and pillows. 

“S’fine, you can go. I’ll feel better soon.” Simon said, moving to look at her. He could see the doubt in Penny’s eyes, and he didn’t blame her; Simon was trying to convince himself more than he was trying to convince Penny.

“Alright, I’ll be back soon then. Call me if anything, okay?” One more nod from Simon, and Penny was up and out of his room. Simon loved Penelope, but he couldn’t hold her down every time the world seemed to freeze for Simon.

Once Simon heard Penny lock the front door, time seemed to slow to the point he no longer knew what was going on outside of his room. The only signs of passing time came from the small gap in his curtains, and even that was not helping Simon.

He was cold again, but this time the cold reminded him of the cold in the White Chapel, the cold of Ebb’s hands, the cold of the Ma-

He was warm now.

Simon opened his eyes to someone moving around his room, walking gently towards his bed and moving Simon’s bed covers. The bed dipped, and the emptiness Simon felt in his body was replaced with arms that anchored him back into the real world.

Baz’s body was cold, but Simon had never felt warmer.

“You didn’t answer my text, and didn’t hear me when I called out for you, so forgive me if I startled you.” Baz said, pressing a soft kiss on Simon’s shoulder. He could feel the warmth of Baz’s breath by his neck, so that meant he probably had fed not too long ago. 

For the first time since he woke up, Simon moved his body to face Baz, who now had the smallest of smiles on his face. 

Out of everything that came out of Watford, Baz was the most beautiful thing that Simon got. 

Baz, who teased him. Baz, who was always by his side. Baz, who tried to kill him (granted, they were kids and didn’t know what the world had in store for them). Baz, who loved Simon before he even knew what love was.

“That’s a very vampire thing to do.” Simon whispered, looking for the little strength he had in his body to speak. Baz moved his hand from Simon’s waist to Simon’s cheek, and Simon instinctively closed his eyes. Baz’s thumb rubbed his cheek lightly, and moved all the way to Simon’s lips. 

Baz was all razor-sharp edges and sharp words, but here, in Simon’s bed, he looked softer than Simon has ever seen him be; every day, Simon found more reasons to love him.

“Of course it is, to you.” Baz allowed himself to smile, finally moving closer towards Simon. He kissed Simon’s forehead first, moved to the mole he first kissed that day in his house in front of the fireplace, and slowly made his way down until his lips ghosted over Simon’s own. Simon liked to consider himself a patient person, but he never was when it came to Baz, so he moved his hand to Baz’s neck and kissed him. Hard.

Baz was all handsome looks, beautiful hair and an intellect that never failed to impress Simon, but his kisses were something Simon would never get tired of. Before, all he wanted to do was sucker-punch him in the face, and now he still wanted to do that. But with his lips.

As they parted, their breaths mingling together, Simon contemplated asking Baz to cast a spell that allowed them to keep kissing without needing to part for air. Even after seven years of living together, Simon still couldn’t get enough of Baz.

If you asked Baz, he would tell you the same thing.

“Do you want to talk about it, Snow?” Baz was staring at him in a ‘worried-but-understanding’ sort of way that Simon knew meant that, if he really wanted to, Baz would lay with him without forcing him talk however long Simon needed it (or until he had to stand up and get food for both of them, which also worked).

“M’tired.” Simon mumbled against Baz's chest, letting himself shiver when Baz ran his hand through his hair, gently tugging at the knots he would find.

“You can sleep, I’ll stay with you.” The sincerity in Baz’s word made it hard for Simon to get annoyed at his obliviousness, but he had no room to get annoyed when he spent so long masking his feelings for Baz with murderous intent.

“It’s not that. I’m just...tired. Have been since the White Chapel. Sometimes it gets easy to deal with it. Other times, it gets too much.” Simon was surprised he could get himself to speak that much, but he noticed how the heaviness in his chest lifted the slightest bit. His therapist helped him sort himself out, but she wasn’t there when it happened. Baz knew, he saw, and he understood, and that’s why Simon was able to get himself speaking.

“Are you still blaming yourself?” Baz asked, and Simon didn’t know what to answer. Simon remembered how Baz held him that day, repeating into his ear how it was okay, how it wasn;t his fault; Baz kept reminding him that Simon won, and that he was still there with him. There was something in the way Baz spoke to him that made him want to believe him.

“I don’t know, I think I still do sometimes. If it weren’t for me, the Humdrum wouldn’t have been created. If it weren’t for me, the magical atmosphere wouldn’t be like it is now. Maybe if it weren’t for me, nothing that happen would have happened and-”

“Shut up, Simon.” Something about Baz’s tone made Simon shut his mouth and look up to meet Baz’s eyes. There was a fire in them Simon hadn’t seen in a while, and staring for too long made him feel like he was burning.

“You’re blaming yourself for things you can’t control, Snow. You couldn’t control being born, you couldn’t control going off the first time, and you certainly couldn’t control the Mage and what he did.” Simon knew that, of course he did. However, some things were easier to say than to believe. It was hard to forgive and forget when looking into his eyes was a constant reminder.

Looking into the mirror and seeing himself reminded him of all that Watford was and did to him. Simon was desperate to let go and move on, but the roots Watford grew around his feet still hadn’t fallen off. Back then, Simon always wanted to go back to Watford, and now, he was trying his hardest to run away from something that still wasn’t ready to leave him.

“Come back to me, Simon.” Baz now held Simon’s face in his hands. Baz once said that, ever since the White Chapel, Simon would sometimes leave to some place far away (in response, Simon told him to tie him down with a rope and never let him go. That night, Baz made sure to remind him that he would never let go). It’s been happening less, but sometimes Simon still found himself drifting into that far away place Baz couldn’t follow him to.

“You don’t have to do anything right now. You don’t have to move on right this instant, Simon. No one’s asking you to move past what happened in a short time. It may not be okay right now, but it will be, love.” Simon’s breath caught in his throat, the lump forming not even letting him reply to Baz’s words.

God bless whoever sent him Baz, whoever decided Simon had enough of all the bad things in his life and gave him something else to live for in the form of Tyrannus Basilton Pitch. 

“Thank you.” I love you. Simon didn’t need to say those words for Baz to know it. Baz knew in the way Simon slammed his lips against his again, holding on tighter than he had been.

Simon was an infinite well brimming with water, and now...he was a broken mirror. The shards are scattered around him, but they’re still there and it’s still him. He’s still Simon Snow. And he wasn’t alone. He had Penelope, who was only a door away. Agatha was still there sometimes, miles away but present and still there.

And he had Baz, of course he did. Baz, who was unmoving. If Simon was a bomb, Baz was the bubble that kept him from disappearing.

Simon wasn’t okay right now, and that’s okay too. He was healing, he was alive, he was here in Baz’s arms and that’s all that mattered right now

...


End file.
